Burning with the Sun
by Somber-and-Resplendent
Summary: Minister Frollo detested many things, sought to cleanse his city of the low-life vermin which had infiltrated his borders; and she, that desirable gypsy, had evaded him on that faithful, summer's day. And he vowed to find her.


**Note: This story was created to fill a prompt on Disney Kink at Live Journal**

 _Burning with the Sun_

* * *

The Minister detested many things, sought to cleanse his city of the low-life, vermin which had infiltrated his borders. They were a rebellious race, heathen in their practices and ignorant to the ways of life by resorting to thievery: gypsies. He cringed, spindly fingers adorned with golden rings of rubies and sapphires clutching the reins of his panting horse, hooves crashing upon the cobblestone streets. Heat radiated through his heart and out of his pale skin, hot breath spewing from his dry lips, a bit of blood seeping through the cracks as a wicked grin appeared on his aged face.

A beautiful sigh had caught his ears. It stopped his heart, once desolate and unforgiving, however, at the sound of her alluring voice, he pursued. Through the blistering snow, he chased the voice that beckoned to him, the voice that called to him in his darkest dreams. He needed to find her; he needed to have her. She had been tormenting him, haunting him with her very smile since he had first laid eyes upon her: dainty wrists bound by ropes, a thin shawl draped upon her narrow shoulders, and thick raven hair sticking to her sweat-slick skin. She had evaded him on that faithful, summer's day. And he vowed to find her.

* * *

It was an ordinary duty performed by an unordinary man on an extraordinary day. The summer's heat was unforgiving and like dogs, the prisoners panted; gypsies of all ages, old and young, weak and strong, had been arrested, ropes binding their dirty hands and feet. The Minister sneered at the lot of them. His stone eyes, shadowed by a swoop of dark grey hair, fell upon each and every fear-stricken face as he slowly strolled before them, checking for malnutrition and illness. He couldn't afford to have disease in the Palace of Justice, though a plague was much desired by the hardened man, for it would fulfill its duty in eliminating the licentious, foul heathens.

"Look at me, you filth!" he sneered, snatching a young boy by the chin, lifting his tear-filled eyes to his scowl. A small hiccup escaped the whimpering boy and the Minister frowned, withdrawing his hand and wiping it on a handkerchief as if to dispose of the filth that had smeared on his delicate fingers. "Take him away," he ordered to his men with a carefree motion of his slender hand.

Down the row of vermin, a pair of dirty feet shuffled hesitantly in the dirt, and it didn't go unnoticed. The Minister whipped his head and narrowed his grey eyes on a hooded figure, ropes tightly looped around the delicate wrists. He raised a dark eyebrow and crossed towards the figure, black cape billowing behind him. Lifting his head proudly, he glared down at the gypsy, a smirk contorting his face. The gypsy shivered, weather it was from the blistering heat of the sun or his condescending gaze, he did not know.

"What is your name?" he asked, dark eyes widening in sudden, uncertain fury. A soft inaudible noise slipped from underneath the cloak. The other gypsies stiffened, some begged for mercy, and others prayed to a God they hoped was listening. "Don't make me repeat myself, filth!"

Irritated, he snatched the cloak and pulled it off, revealing a young woman whose green eyes, beautiful as they were, lost their color and sunk into her skull. She was dehydrated; raven hair stuck to her sweat-slick neck like sticky vines growing on a castle's wall, beads of sweat collecting on her forehead. Dry, cracked lips attempted to part and state her name, but instead they trembled in exhaustion and failed to satisfy the Minister, his towering shadow acting as the only relief from the burning rays of the sun. And though his dark eyes seared through her flesh, setting her heathen body aflame with his fury, he couldn't fully restrain the unknown heat that emanated from his heart, for it was the way her sweat trickled down her neck and in between her breasts.

"Minister Frollo?" a soldier called, waking the plagued man from his trance, his armored hands tugging at the ropes of the small gypsy boy. "Minister, what shall we do with them? There's no room in the dungeons."

"Then take them to the gallows," he sneered, his patience vanishing, sanity fleeting. It was her only chance.

She ran.

The gush of air slamming against her hot body was heavenly; it combed through her dark locks and cooled her burning neck. Her breath came in short, and her heart pounded harder than her sweaty feet pounded against the cobblestone. However, her freedom was short lived, for he pursued her on horseback. The galloping hooves echoed in the back streets of the city, setting her heart ablaze and pushing her limits to the edge. She had nowhere to hide, and she knew her feet could only carry her so far.

Her vision blurred, body fell weak, and the sun scorched her. And as the Minister neared her, the horse's hot breath nipping at her heels, he stretched out an arm, fingers desperately reaching out. If only he could snatch her, wrap his fingers in her hair and pull her back into his presence. Would he take her to gallows with the rest or was there something more sinister in mind? He didn't know.

Breathless and losing her state of mind as the sun rays burned her flesh, the Notre-Dame Cathedral came into view. It was God sent. It was Sanctuary. She stumbled up the stone steps, heaved open the large wooden doors, life escaping her with every breath, slipped inside, and shut the doors behind her. It was silent. The galloping hooves vanished, the Minister's heavy panting left her ears, and the loud beat of her racing heart slowed and became quiet.

She sighed, slumped back against the doors, and shut her eyes. She was safe. For a moment she allowed herself to think of her friends. She had left them in bondage, shivered at the remembrance of their sentencing, the gallows. She grunted, grabbed at her stomach, and staggered forward. It ached. The intense heat had poisoned her. She fought back the urge to keep from vomiting, fought the urge to keep from cursing the Minister's name in this Holy place, and she fought the urge to keep from screaming when she heard his heavy fist banging against the Notre-Dame doors.

She panicked.

She ran towards the first thing her fear-stricken eyes laid upon, stairs. They led into darkness, spiraling up. She hadn't known where they led, but the relief of being hidden within the darkness of tower was comforting enough, until the Minister's footsteps rang behind her. She began to sprint, arms outstretched before her in desperation, fingers ready for the touch of a door. She found it, slipped inside, and didn't bother shutting it.

The room was stuffy, sun beams piercing the floor from open windows from above. She was in the bell tower. The Minister grew close, his musky scent filling her nostrils, and without a thought, she lunged towards a crooked set of wooden stairs and continued her ascent.

He pursued.

When she reached the upper floor, piles of broken statues of gargoyles and solemn saints blocked her path. She was trapped.

"There is nowhere to run, gypsy," the Minister said from behind, his voice void of exhaustion. He was calm, composed, and it frightened her. She swallowed. She wasn't prepared to give in, or to turn around and face his proud smirk. However, he neared her, feet gently inching closer.

She scanned the upper floor. He was right, there was nowhere to run. She eyed a tall statue of Saint Jude. If only she could escape beneath his arms and shimmy in between the stone creations, then she could. . .

He snatched her, threw her up against a wooden beam, his towering height trapping her. She screamed, but his hand soon found her lips, silencing her.

"Quiet, witch!" he ordered, struggling to mask her screeches. She stiffened, thoughts whirling in her head. She was caught. And he could see the fear shining in her emerald eyes. Gently, his hand moved from her mouth, fingers brushing against her lips. He couldn't let the guards wrap a noose around this beautiful creature.

She watched him. The lust in his eyes was unmistakable. Suddenly her fears vanished and a wicked thought fogged her senses.

"Do you like what you see, Minister?" she asked, catching his wandering eyes. He stiffened. He had been caught, and a scowl overtook his face. "Give me my freedom and I'll let you have a taste," she teased, arching her back, breasts pressing up against his chest where the fires of lust burned within. She could feel the heat emanating from him. It was foul, petrifying, and erotic. And whether or not he took her upon her persuasive bargain, she answered for him with a kiss, sealing the deal.

He was scorching. And though his grip upon her tightened in fury due to her sudden, lustful action, he deepened the kiss and moaned into her mouth. She was delightful. And in impulsive passion, he forced his tongue into her mouth, conquering her. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. His hands trailed up her legs, lifting her skirts. She shuddered and he moaned, his lips pulling into a smile.

She pulled away from him, panting for air. But he was relentless. He snatched her by the wrists and pinned her arms behind her back, the narrow beam as her only support. She had no time to protest as he possessed her lips again, the feeling of ecstasy consuming him. It was new-found, sinful, but cherished.

She loathed it, regretted every moment and even convinced herself that it was the heat of the sun which had made her delirious. But it was a proven fact that it was the heat from the Minister's touch which made her heart race. _How could he_ , she asked herself, _how could he make me want this?_ She cringed, tore her lips away from his. But he didn't sneer. But instead ran his tongue along her neck, biting and sucking on her flesh. It felt heavenly.

She moaned, cursed him, and denied herself the pleasure he placed upon her. Barely aware of her surroundings, aware of the tantalizing things he was doing to her body, she lifted her leg. Her foot slid up his calf and glided along his inner thigh. And before she could reach his throbbing member, he withdrew from her in utter shock, hands releasing her from bondage.

And she ran.

 **A/N: If you liked it, tell me what you think! :) Reviews are appreciated.**


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